When I was a little girl, going to your house was THE TREAT.
It meant comfort.
Little individual cereal boxes (the green ones with the frog on them where my favorite). Little individual juices. Fruit roll-ups.
The little yellow robot that ate our quarters and then licked his lips. Butterfly stickers on the sliding glass door so we wouldn't run into it (because it was sparkling clean and impossible to see when shut). Little Dixie cups in the bathrooms (those were so cool). Aussie shampoo (anytime I smell that stuff, I think of you).
Christmas, with all of us sleeping on the floor, and that horrible, horrible tree stump for a Christmas tree (I despised that tree stump). But, Christmas was still best at your house.
The little people house with all the furniture to go with it (Moma gave that to a thrift store, and I have never forgiven her). Almost drowning in your pool. Getting rides on the yellow Club Cadet lawn mower. Fighting with Marty over the airplane swing hanging in the tree out back.
Giving you weeds/flowers when Pawpaw died, and wishing you weren't sad.
You sleeping on the floor between me, Jack, and Abi's beds when we stayed the night at your house, and anytime we so much as blinked, you would say,"GO TO SLEEP!". I don't know how in the world you could hear us blinking.
Jumping on your bed....it was allowed.
Pawpaw saying pull my finger, and you saying don't do it, Sunny Jane.
It was like everything you had, or did was with us in mind.
You are just amazing that way.
You are the epitome of what Grandmother means.
The definition of lady.
And the example of Godly.
And best of all, you gave me my Moma, who is just like you. I love you for that most of all.
I love you, Granny, and Happy (Belated:) Birthday!